


Strep, Surprise, and Spiced Tea

by Kaiserkorresponds



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Illnesses, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has a Bad Time, M/M, Mentioned Sasha James, Mentioned Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Protective Martin Blackwood, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, Tea, The Magnus Archives Season 1, Touch-Averse Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Whump, strep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/pseuds/Kaiserkorresponds
Summary: "It looks– good." Jon said awkwardly, and in a movement he knew he was about to regret, raised the steaming cup to his lips and swallowed a sip of the tea.It absolutely burned, the heat of it searing a path down his inflamed throat, and stinging immensely as the spice of the herbs washed over the swelling and the red, raw patches that he knew were lining the inside of his mouth.Instantly, he let out a pained cry, muffling it behind tightly shut lips as soon as he could, but obviously still just a beat too late, as Martin's face went from nervous to absolutely panicked."Jon! Are you– are you okay?"--Or Jon catches strep and still comes to work, and instead just of telling Martin his throat hurts, tries to drink a cup of freshly boiled, and spiced, tea!!
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	Strep, Surprise, and Spiced Tea

"Oh, and I brought your tea for you, it's the same blend you liked last week. The one with the cinnamon, and the orange peel, and the little bits of cardamom." 

Martin smiled awkwardly, placing the cup down on the desk with a soft click. 

"I know you enjoyed this one so I, well, I made sure to get another box of it, just so that we'd have it."

Jon stared up at him, and then at the faintly steaming cup of tea 

The cup of tea that was his absolute favorite blend, one that was hot and spicy and amazing, and that at any other time would have been delicious, had his throat not been absolutely burning. The ache that had been lingering there for days solidifying overnight from a bit of a cold that he could easily hide behind a few half stifled coughs and the dryness of the stale air in the archives, to a near firey pain that raced down from his jaw to his chest with each swallow. 

"Yes, erm, thank you, Martin." He said as clearly as he possibly could, despite the way that the words seared up his throat. "I'll– I'll definitely try it– try it later." 

Martin's face shifted to an anxious expression. 

"Is it still a bit too hot right now? I tried seeping it in just a bit of a higher temperature than usual, but I wasn't sure if it would be too warm or not." 

Jon froze, as much as the feverish tremors would allow. 

"No, no. It looks, er, okay." 

Martin's face creased further in a way that looked nervous, and just on the wrong side of apprehensive. 

"Is there something– something else wrong with it then?" He asked, sounding almost jittery with anxiety. 

Jon mentally cursed himself, and his own lack of foresight. Had he simply said that it was too hot for immediate drinking, he could have left it to cool on the desk under the guise of the heat, and then discreetly disposed of it later when he felt less as if he were swallowing glass shards. Now, Martin was staring nervously at him, wringing his hands, and fidgeting in front of the desk in clear apprehension. 

"No, no. It's–" He broke off, not just due to the sharp ache at speaking, but also that he didn't have an excuse that didn't involve the phrase 'I've caught a cold'. 

Martin's pale blue gaze almost bored into him with the anxious question reflected in his eyes. 

"It looks– good." Jon said awkwardly, and in a movement he knew he was about to regret, raised the steaming cup to his lips and drew in a sip of the tea. 

It absolutely burned, the heat of it searing a path down his inflamed throat, and stinging immensely as the flavors of the herbs touched the swelling and the red, raw patches that he knew were lining the inside of his mouth. 

Involuntarily, he let out a pained cry, muffling it behind tightly shut lips as soon as he could, but still obviously just a beat too late, as Martin's face went from nervous to absolutely panicked. 

"Jon! Are you– are you okay?" 

Jon swallowed again, the sting of it near bringing tears to his eyes, and an absolutely vicious shiver racing through his body. 

"I'm– I'm fine." He choked out, the raspy, scraping tone to his voice that he had gone to great pains to hide slipping through to hang awkwardly in the air. 

"Was it, was it the tea?" Martin asked, looking still almost ready to bolt with his blue eyes near comically wide, and his lips parted in a stuttery gap. 

"No– no." Jon managed to say, still blinking back the absolutely horrid combination of feverish shivering, and the pain in his infected throat. "Wasn't– it's not that." 

Martin looked only faintly less panicked but a curious, and almost probing look, formed across his face. 

"What was that then, Jon? Because it looked– well, it looked pretty painful." 

For the second time, Jon froze. 

"It– er, was just– just." 

Martin's brows creased at the stammering. 

"Did you hurt yourself somehow?" He asked, adding in a softer, more perplexed tone. "Not sure how you'd injure your mouth though." 

Jon flashed through a multitude of lies, each one less credible than the next. That he'd recorded too many statements that morning and it had wrecked his throat, that he had cut his tongue on a crunchy biscuit, that he'd been hungover and that the acid from the vomiting had given him a sore throat. 

"I– I have a cold." He finally muttered. 

"You have a cold?" Martin repeated, his voice sounding both still slightly confused, as well as edging into the territory of concern. 

"Yes, I've– I've been a bit under the weather." 

"And your throat, it hurts bad enough that you can't even drink anything?" 

"Well I can still drink some things." Jon corrected. "Just not anything too hot– or spicy, or well, too much at once, or really anything that has too much sugar." 

The last traces of confusion flickered away from Martin's face, but was instead replaced by an abundance of concern. 

"How long has it been that bad, Jon?" He asked, the edges of his lips down turning into a frown. 

"Not since today, it– it's felt sore for a while. But it wasn't this bad until this morning." 

The words didn't cause the concern to fade from Martin's expression as Jon had hoped, instead it ratched up to a level that had Jon squirming faintly in his desk chair. Feeling, for once, almost pinned under Martin's gaze and the surprisingly intense sheen of worry emanating from his blue eyes. 

"How long have you been sick?" 

"It's only been– well, erm, it's been a few days." 

Martin's frown deepened. 

"And how bad is the pain, in your throat I mean?"

"It– hurts." Jon muttered, aware that the answer was in no way informative.

"Jon, this is important, how bad is it?" 

"Excruciating. It's– it burns." 

"Do you know if you have a fever at all? Or have you felt sick in any other ways?" 

"I've felt–" Jon mumbled. "I definitely had– well, I do have a fever. I believe it was near 38.5 degrees last night, and I've been a bit sick to my stomach." 

"Jon," Martin's voice was far more intense than Jon typically heard it, not wavering in his usual anxious way or trembling. "Can I look into your mouth? It sounds like– well like you might be a bit more ill than just a cold." 

Jon fidgeted awkwardly at the prospect of Martin of all people staring into his mouth, the idea feeling uncomfortable and far too invasive. But the sharp, stinging ache all down his throat was rapidly reaching a point that was near intolerable. 

"Alright." He mumbled. 

"Alright to check your throat?" Martin asked, still frowning. 

"Yes, it's– yes." 

Martin nodded, and took a careful step forward, sliding the cup, that damn cup of tea that had started all of this mess, over to the side. 

Gently, he placed his hands on either side of Jon's jaw, the touch feeling uncomfortably freezing against his burning skin. 

Martin frowned deeper as well as his fingertips touched the heat, but said nothing, instead gently probing at the sides of Jon's throat before lightly tapping on his jaw in a signal to open his mouth. 

Jon squirmed a bit, but still pried open his jaw in a stiff, painful motion. 

Martin instantly made a soft, almost hissing sound, carefully tilting his head up further towards the office's lights. 

"Jon," He said softly. "That– that's pretty bad. It looks like it could be strep, especially with how sick you've been."

"What?" Jon said stupidly as soon as Martin's hands left his face. "It can't be, I'm an adult, and– and it's seemed like just a cold, just with a, well a horrible sore throat." 

Martin's frown turned almost sad. 

"Jon, adults still get strep, especially if their immune system isn't fully working."

"But– I never, I hadn't had it in grade school. How do you even know?" 

Martin winced a bit. "Well, you've got– it's pretty swollen. And those whitish patches don't really tend to happen unless you've got an infection, and it looks just like strep." 

Jon sat back in the chair, slumping a bit from the absolute shock of not only getting into far too close quarters with one of his assistants, but also the idea that he could have a nasty, childhood illness. 

Added to the already feverish exhaustion, and the absolutely vicious chills, he was almost tempted to simply remain rooted in the chair until he felt better, or until the archives closed for the night, which was only in about seven hours since he'd already been there far earlier than the opening. 

"Jon?" Martin asked softly. 

"Yeah, er– yes." Jon mumbled, glancing back up to Martin's still concerned face. 

"Are you okay? Well, beyond the– well, strep." 

"I'm fine, Martin." 

The mixture of illness and exhaustion, and truthfully everything was just a lot. 

Far too much really, and he was seriously considering the plan of remaining rooted in the desk chair for the rest of eternity, not just the rest of the work day. 

"You–" Martin said haltingly. "You're going to need antibiotics. If it really is strep, it's only going to get worse and there could be complications." 

Jon let out a breath, hissing at the searing pain of his throat as the air crossed the swelling. And the pus, if Martin's assessment had been accurate, however disgusting the thought might be. 

"Yes, well, I'll go to a clinic this weekend." 

Martin looked apprehensive again. "It's– it's not exactly good to wait that long, Jon. You really should go today, before it gets worse."

Jon felt the tug of resistance rise up at the idea of being instructed by Martin of all people, and the very idea of leaving work far before business hours were finished, but again, for what felt as if it were the hundredth time that day, the searing ache in his throat and the weight of his own exhaustion laid heavier than his pride. 

"Alright, I'll go to the clinic." 

"Now?" Martin asked, looking almost relieved in a way that was annoyingly sincere.

"After lunch. I need to be at least a bit productive today." 

A look of disapproval crossed Martin's features, but he nodded softly. 

"Alright." He said, fidgeting slightly in the odd space behind the desk. "I'll just take this, then?" 

He gestured to the still faintly steaming cup of tea, "It's– well it's not exactly going to be useful now." 

Jon huffed out something that would have been a chuckle if not for his swollen throat. "Yes, well, likely not." 

Martin smiled awkwardly. 

"I'll just take it back to the break room then, and check back– well I mean, I can come back later, before you go to the clinic?" 

Jon frowned at the reminder of his plan of exiting the workday early. "Yes that's– it would be fine."

Martin nodded. "Alright then." 

He turned towards the door, the mug held cradled in his hands still steaming with just the tiniest wisps of fogginess. 

"Oh, and Jon?" He asked. 

Jon glanced up from where he had been staring back at the statement, trying to make sense of it through the haze of discomfort still surrounding him. "Yes?" 

"What are you going to tell Tim and Sasha?" 

Jon groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize that I'm going be posting so much in the next few days!!! I'm trying to space it out as much as possible but I've got a lot of fics in the works, finished or drafted, and I'm determined to kick the habit of not posting due to it not being perfect (starting with this one) !!!! 
> 
> Also if you'd like follow me on Tumblr !! It's @ Kaiserkorresponds
> 
> Edit: The title of this fic was changed after I realized that some ppl would be a bit freaked out by the medical terminology and that not everyone is also a nerd who knows the scientific name for strep !!!


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